by Mark Smith
The afternoon drags. We’ve barely eaten in two days and our bodies are weak. But Tusker takes few rests, usually only when his men complain.
Towards nightfall, we take a longer break at a bridge where a creek flows down from the main range. Kas and I have to kneel down and put our faces into the water to drink. When we stand up we both peer through the trees looking for any sign of the fire tower that marks the No-landers farm. But the hazy dusk limits how far we can see.
I notice now that each time we stop Tusker posts sentries at the edges of the group. They are much more wary out here than they were back closer to Swan’s Marsh.
As I’m looking around, I hear a birdcall I’ve never heard before—two high-pitched whistles that might be a hawk of some kind. It comes from the hills behind us. Then an answering call follows from the other side of the valley, this time three whistles. Kas has heard it, too. None of the Wilders seems to notice.
Tusker dismounts and allows Yogi to drink. He ties him to the railing on the bridge then comes over and squats next to us. His eyes scan upriver. ‘You know anything about these Sileys out here?’ he asks, his voice low, almost friendly.
‘What Sileys?’ Kas says.
‘Runaways. We’ll track them down soon enough, now the weather’s turned. The world’s a dangerous place these days. I don’t know why anyone wouldn’t want Ramage’s protection.’
‘Protection!’ Kas spits.
Tusker snorts. ‘Sileys don’t belong here in the first place. They should be grateful for anything we give them.’
‘Locked up, abused, starved, killed? Yeah, why wouldn’t we be grateful?’
‘Anything’s better than the shitholes you come from.’ The edge has returned to Tusker’s voice.
Kas wants to keep him talking. It gives us more time to rest. ‘Why are you so surprised Sileys are fighting back? You’d do the same in their position.’
Tusker doesn’t answer, but he pauses for a few seconds before saying, ‘We’ll hunt them down. If they fight us, we’ll kill them.’
‘That’s still better than being a slave,’ Kas says.
We walk on into the night, both of us stumbling from exhaustion. I’m sure I hear the bird call again a couple of times. The same pattern—two calls answered by three.
Eventually we see the buildings of Longley start to take shape in the dark. As we get closer to the centre of town, a man holding a lantern steps out of a house and watches us pass. He hisses and whistles at Kas.
Tusker laughs, ‘Ease up boys. She’s mine.’
We turn into the wide main street, and Tusker stops outside some high gates that are topped with barbed wire. Attached to the fence is rusty sign: ‘Ramage’s Stock and Feed’.
‘Welcome home,’ Tusker says, leaning down close to Kas. ‘Don’t worry, though, you won’t be here long. You’ll be moving into my place soon enough.’
We are pushed inside the yard. One of the Wilders cuts the ties around our wrists and the gates are locked behind us. My hands are numb and I have to rub them on my legs to get some feeling back into them. There’s a large shed in the corner of the yard. Half a dozen figures stand by the open door. As we draw closer one rushes towards us.
‘Kas,’ she cries and throws her arms around her.
‘Danka!’
They walk arm in arm through the big sliding door. Inside there’s the smell of hay and fertiliser and shit, all mixed together. A lamp is lit and we’re led to a long wooden table underneath a loft. There must be fifteen or twenty people here, crowding in.
Danka speaks in a thick, unfamiliar accent. ‘This is Kas. And—’
‘Finn,’ Kas says.
Questions are thrown at us from all directions. ‘Where have you come from? How were you caught? What’s happening outside Longley? Where’s Rose?’
Kas catches this last question and looks up at the girl who asked it. ‘Rose is dead,’ she says, and everyone falls quiet.
The girl puts her hand to her mouth.
‘She died last autumn,’ Kas says.
‘And her baby?’ Danka asks.
‘Alive, but she’s been brought back here somewhere. A girl. Hope.’
‘It must be the baby Sylvia is looking after,’ Danka says.
Kas grabs her by the arm. ‘Where’s Sylvia?’ she asks.
‘We haven’t seen her since before the winter.’
‘Does anyone know the Ramsay place?’ I say. It’s the farm Bridget Monahan mentioned. Everyone turns to look at me.
‘I know the Ramsay farm.’ It’s a boy’s voice, coming from the back of the group. They open up and let him through. He’s a thickset kid, maybe twelve or thirteen, with tight dark curls and brown skin. ‘It’s the last place along the main road before the railway. I worked there last year.’
Kas shoots a glance at me. I nod. At least we know where Hope is. But first we have to get out of here.
‘What’s been happening here?’ Kas asks. ‘Where’s Ramage? Have there been any escapes?’
‘Vashti escaped, before the winter,’ Danka begins, talking over the others. ‘Food’s been scarce but they still forced us out to work, even in the storms. Nothing much has grown. We haven’t had meat in three months.’
‘Longer,’ a voice calls from the back.
‘But the last couple of weeks, they’ve been getting raiding parties together, heading out in groups of four or five. And there’s been another escape.’
‘I think we met her.’ Kas says. ‘Daymu?’
All the voices rise again. ‘Where? Was she okay? Has she found her brother?’
Kas tells them about the Wilders capturing Daymu and how we helped her. A little cheer ripples through the group. It turns to laughter when she tells them how Jack tied the Wilders up and took their boots.
She doesn’t say anything about the No-landers. We’re careful, now, about who we trust.
‘What about Ramage?’ I ask.
‘He was here until yesterday. There was a big carry on when one of his men came back from somewhere to the east. He was all cut up and looked like he’d been in a fight.’
‘Douglas!’ I say, and they all turn to look at me. I can’t tell if it’s because of what I’ve said or the sound of my voice.
‘How do you know his name?’ Danka says.
‘Doesn’t matter. What happened then?’
‘They took every man they could spare,’ Danka says, ‘maybe a dozen of them. Headed off in the middle of the night. Ramage waited until the morning, then followed on his trail bike.’
‘How many are left here?’ Kas asks.
‘Not sure, but we’ve only seen four. Plus the ones that came with you,’ Danka says.
‘Douglas?’
‘Still here.’
Kas and I look at each other, both thinking the same thing. Douglas will want revenge after the way he was treated in the valley.
We’re so tired we can hardly keep our eyes open. Danka tells the others to give us some space.
‘Have you eaten?’ she asks us.
‘Not a scrap,’ I say.
‘We don’t have much but…’
She gets to her feet and walks off into the dark, returning after a few minutes with a couple of limp looking carrots.
‘Sorry,’ she says, ‘but it’s all we’ve got. You won’t believe what we’ve eaten this winter. Horse feed. Chook pellets. Anything we can smuggle back from the farms.’
We’re led up into the loft where hay bales are arranged to form rough rooms. There are hessian sacks to throw over the top of us, and thick hay to lie on. We hardly notice, collapsing onto the makeshift beds.
‘Where do I remember Danka’s name from,’ I whisper to Kas.
‘She’s the one I told you had the baby Rose and me helped to deliver last year.’
Before I drift off I hear Kas say, ‘Danka?’
‘What?’
‘Where’s your baby?’
The silence is our answer.
We’re woken in the morning
by conversation at the table below us. It sounds as though everyone is up. We’ve had our best sleep since leaving the valley.
‘I’m scared of Tusker,’ Kas says, her voice low.
I put an arm around her but I can’t find any words to comfort her. At least Ramage isn’t here, but he could return any day. I hope the farmers can stall him in the valley.
‘There must be a way out,’ I say. ‘Daymu escaped.’
We climb down from the loft and join the others at the table. They’re a hotchpotch of ages, shapes, sizes and colours. I count fourteen altogether. And, in the daylight, I see they all have an ‘R’ branded on their forearms.
‘Are you still being sent out to work the farms?’ Kas asks.
A boy they call Sammy answers. ‘Not much in the last week with all the commotion. We’ve been locked in here. Pretty much forgotten about. But that might change now, with Tusker back. He’s a mean piece of shit.’
The others murmur their agreement. Some of the girls link arms and hold each other.
‘How did Daymu escape?’ I ask.
A tall blond boy, about my age, answers. ‘There was a fight between two Wilders,’ he says. ‘It happens all the time. When they get tired of beating us up, they turn on each other. We didn’t even notice Daymu was gone until the next morning when we saw a couple of the Wilders mending a tiny gap in the fence. She was small enough to slip through.’
This gets me thinking about how well they guard the fences. We’ll need to watch how often they patrol, especially at night.
Looking more closely at the kids, none of them looks well. Some have sores on their skin, most are thinner than they should be. All of them have long, matted hair and some scratch constantly at their scalps.
Danka sees me looking. ‘Lice,’ she says. ‘Big enough to eat!’
‘Show me outside,’ I say to Danka, motioning Kas to follow. The yard is a big rectangle, taking up half the block. There are no trees, no shade of any sort, and the ground is a mix of concreted areas and gravel. One side is dominated by a two-storey brick building, the feedstore office, with a line of windows overlooking the yard. We clearly see Tusker and Douglas looking down at us. Douglas is pointing.
We turn our backs to them.
‘What’s up?’ Danka asks, realising I wasn’t keen to talk in front of the others.
‘Kas and I are pretty sure we were followed last night.’
‘Followed? Who by?’
I glance at Kas and she nods. So I tell Danka about the meeting with the No-landers and how Daymu set out to look for them.
‘We’ve heard the Wilders talk about them,’ Danka says. ‘Ramage is worried. They’ve been hitting some of his smaller farms, taking food, stock, weapons. Ramage thinks he knows the area they are in but up until now he hasn’t been able to find them.’
‘They know how to stay out of sight,’ Kas says.
‘We’re pretty sure Ramage was getting a big search party together, but then Douglas arrived and plans changed,’ Danka says.
Again, Kas and I exchange glances.
‘What aren’t you telling me?’ Danka asks.
Kas takes over the story, telling her about the valley.
‘So Tusker came from there?’ Danka says. ‘And he’s a traitor. Doesn’t surprise me. He’s not so bad when Ramage is about, spends most of his time crawling up his arse, but when Ramage is away, he takes advantage. That’s when he’s at his worst.’
‘Like now, you mean?’ and we all turn and look up at the windows. There’s no sign of Tusker or Douglas.
Some time around midday, there’s the sound of the chain on the gate being moved and the squeal of rusty hinges. Everyone in the shed moves quickly out into the yard. Two Wilders with rifles guard another carrying a big cast-iron pot. He puts it down just inside the gate and they retreat, drawing the chain through and padlocking the gate. Then they stand back and watch.
‘Here, piggy piggy,’ one of the Wilders calls. ‘Come and get your swill.’
Danka stands in front and whispers to the others, ‘Just cos they treat us like pigs, doesn’t mean we have to act like pigs. Sammy, you and JT go and get it. Don’t spill any.’ JT is the tall boy who spoke at the table this morning. He and Sammy move quickly towards the gate. While they do, the Wilders have a competition to see who can spit over the top of the wire into the pot. When the boys get there, they shield the pot with their bodies, copping the spit in their hair and on their clothes. They don’t respond, just walk back to the shed.
Inside, the pot is placed on the table. Everyone crowds around with a variety of spoons and bowls. Danka uses a tin cup to ladle out the soupy mixture. It looks like dirty water but towards the bottom there are some slimy vegetables.
‘Turnips,’ Danka says.
Late in the afternoon, the gate is opened again and three Wilders file through, two holding rifles and one with a long stick that has a knife taped to the end. Douglas follows them. He’s wearing thick gloves and carrying a heavy metal bucket. There’s smoke coming out the top. Next, Tusker steps through the gate holding a stiff length of wire.
‘Oh, shit, no,’ JT says, looking at me and Kas.
We are all called out into the yard. The sky is thickening with grey cloud and a cold wind whistles through the gaps in the buildings.
Tusker stands in front of us with his legs spread, his thumbs hitched into his belt. His eye twitches where the scar runs through it.
‘Time for a bit of branding,’ he says. ‘So we know who belongs to who.’
He’s looking at me.
‘Step out here, dog boy. Be quick now. Woof, woof.’
All the Wilders laugh. ‘My friend Dougie, here,’ he says, ‘tells me that you and my new girlfriend…’ He pauses and glares at Kas. ‘You killed his mates. And not just his mates, Rat! Ramage’s son. Now, as you’d expect’—he’s enjoying himself, making the moment last—‘Benny Ramage will deal with you when he gets back from cleaning up the mess you left in the valley. But until then, I’m in charge of the branding.’
Douglas’s bucket is half filled with glowing coals. Tusker pushes the end of the wire into the bucket and stands back with his arms folded. ‘I think we’ll let Dougie do the honours on you, boy.’
I can’t stop my body shaking. My eyes are fixed on the bucket.
‘Why c-can’t I d-do the g-girl,’ he says.
‘Cos you’ll do what I say, you idiot.’
Somewhere out past the gate, I hear the bird call, same as yesterday, high and shrill. Then the response.
Kas steps forward and links her arm in mine. ‘It wasn’t Finn. I killed Rat,’ she says, defiant. ‘And Wilson. I shot him. And I’d do it again.’
‘Get out of the way, girl,’ Tusker says. ‘I don’t want you scarred anymore than you are already.’ He pushes Kas to the side and kicks me in the back of the legs to bring me to my knees. Then he wrenches my left arm, turns it over and stands on my hand, pinning it to the gravel.
From down here I can see through the legs of the Wilders. There’s movement behind them, over near the gate they’ve left open. A dozen No-landers slide through the gate, all with guns.
I struggle and kick at the ground but Tusker keeps my arm pinned.
Douglas is in a hurry. He pulls the wire from the bucket. The end is glowing red. He smiles as he presses it hard into my skin. The pain rips through my whole body. I scream. Tusker lifts his foot and I roll away, hugging my arm to my chest.
Douglas squats beside me, waving the hot wire in front of my face. ‘W-weak as—’
He never gets to finish his sentence. A shot cracks the air and he slumps to the gravel.
All the kids scatter and the Wilders spin around towards the gate.
Tusker is unarmed but he tries to prise a weapon out of the hands of one of the others. As they wrestle another shot rings out, this time above their heads. The No-landers walk towards the Wilders, guns raised.
Through my tears, I recognise Tahir and Gabriel at the front. And,
to the left of them, Daymu.
‘On the ground!’ Tahir shouts.
Tusker and the other three Wilders freeze, realising they’re outnumbered. More No-landers push through the gate and all the feedstore kids stand up to crowd in.
The Wilders sink to their knees. Danka takes the rifle from Tusker’s grasp.
The kids eye the No-landers warily. JT is the first to recognise Daymu. She runs to him and they embrace. Danka appears beside me with a bottle of water. She takes my hand and pours it over the wound. I can’t look at it.
‘So, my friends, we meet again,’ Tahir says. His broad, white smile disappears when he sees my arm. More of the feedstore kids are bringing water but nothing eases the scorching pain of the burn.
‘We tracked you yesterday,’ Gabriel says, kneeling beside me. ‘We had to wait for them to drop their guard. I’m sorry we didn’t get here earlier.’
‘We heard your calls,’ Kas says.
‘Yes. We saw you looking.’
Kas and Danka do some quick introductions. The Wilders have been made to lie on the ground, their hands on the backs of their heads. ‘There are more of them in town,’ Danka says. ‘No time to stand around talking. And we’ve got to look after Finn’s arm.’
The Wilders are cable-tied and taken behind the shed, out of sight. There’s every chance others have heard the shots and will come to investigate.
The kids and the No-landers assemble in the shed. The space is tight—there must be more than thirty of us. Danka, Tahir and JT climb the ladder to the loft so they can see everyone.
Kas has brought me a bucket of water. I sit it on the table and put my arm in until the burn is covered. For the first time, I take a close look at it. The skin is raw around the black ‘R’ and the swelling radiates out towards my wrist and elbow. I push my hand hard against the bottom of the bucket to stop it shaking. Kas is beside me, rubbing my back. There are tears in her eyes.
It’s started to rain. The heavy drops beat on the corrugated iron roof and Danka has to raise her voice to be heard. ‘We’re free but we’ll have to move fast to get clear of town before Ramage finds out.’
